Can't Fix Cupid

She looks at me expectantly. “What do you think?”

Is that a trick question? I’m not sure, but I panic. “Uh, it’s kind of like the way I would imagine squishy wood tastes?”

She narrows her eyes at me, and I realize that was not what she wanted to hear.

I quickly amend my statement. “But really delicious squishy wood.”

There. I fixed it.

She just cocks a brow at me. Dammit.

I really need her to go on this date, so I plaster a smile on my face as I force myself to swallow. “So, so fricken good,” I tell her, my eyes wide to really drive my point home.

She finally relaxes. “It’s veggiturkey and tofu cheese. The mayo is eggless, too, and we picked the lettuce and tomatoes from our community garden. Amazing, right?”

“Mm-hmm, definitely. So amazing. Life changing, almost.” Too far? Maybe. But Blue seems happier by the second.

I pick out a huge nut from the bread before taking another—very small—bite. “What about the bread?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant, when really I’m thinking to myself, who the fuck puts birdseed in bread? It doesn’t seem right.

“Oh, that’s from Marjorie. She loves baking, so we trade her for it. We’re making her some custom cooling racks.”

“Cool,” I say, as the food sloshes around in my mouth like my tongue is considering leading a rebellion.

“So what’s the deal with this guy?” Blue prompts me while she continues to eat.

Using her question for a reason to stop eating, I quickly drop the sandwich. “What do you mean?”

“Well, aside from his fear of commitment, what’s his deal? Is he unemployed? Living with his mom? Have a beer belly? Chew tobacco?”

I shake my head. “No, none of that. He’s just an asshole. He’s too hot for his own good.”

For some reason, that seems to perk her up. “Oh, I see. You got yourself a bored greyhound.”

I tilt my head. “A what?”

“A bored greyhound. All his little fuckbunnies keep laying at his feet, ready to be caught. But a guy like him? He’s missing the chase. He wants to have to catch the rabbit. He wants a bunny who will keep him on his toes. One that will surprise him.”

That...actually makes a lot of sense.

“What’s he do for a living?” she asks.

I blink away the picture I have of Warren running around a racetrack with bunnies chasing after him in order to answer her. “He’s the CEO of a big company.”

This answer seems to simultaneously interest her and piss her off. “Oh. One of those.”

“Those?”

She nods. “A money-hungry greed-churner wearing a monkey suit.”

I fidget in my borrowed suit jacket. “Um, I guess?”

“What’s his name?”

“Warren Knight.”

Her eyes bug out of their sockets. “Warren Knight?” she sputters.

I nod slowly.